The Earl Next Door: The Bachelor Lords of London

by Charis Michaels

  He and Joseph were prepared to crouch beside the stable door for hours, waiting for Miss Breedlowe’s visit to end, but apparently the nightly reports were meant to be short and to the point. Miss Breedlowe stepped briskly out the back door, Marissa behind her, in just ten minutes’ time. Willing himself to be calm and cordial, Trevor stepped out of the shadows to block her path.

  “A word, if you will, Miss Breedlowe,” he said.

  Miss Breedlowe skittered back against a drain pipe, clutching her chest. “My lord! You startled me!”

  Trevor made no move to calm her. “Tell me where she is.”

  She glanced at Marissa, acutely disappointed, and then back at the earl. She opened her mouth and then closed it. Shoving off of the drain pipe, she took a deep breath and smoothed her gloves over shaking hands. She flicked raindrops off her coat.

  “It was only a matter of time,” Trevor went on, watching her. “The marchioness and yourself—and especially, my wife—should be warned: I will be tireless in my search for her.”

  Miss Breedlowe nodded to the ground, clearly bolstering herself, and then met his gaze. “I cannot speak for Lady Frinfrock, my lord, but rest assured that your wife is aware of no such conviction.” She took a step toward the gate.

  He blocked her. “Meaning what?”

  “I’m sorry, my lord. I want to help you, truly I do, but my duty is to the countess.”

  Trevor growled. “Then do your duty and allow me to provide for her. We can, I believe, both agree that her condition is fragile, and that she requires the attention of the most talented doctors and the most comfortable lodging. She requires care at all hours. How in God’s name can she receive this if she is separated from her husband, out of her house, in a bloody hired room, somewhere across town?”

  “I can assure you, my lord, that she is quite comfortable and receives only the best care.”

  “I must see her!” He banged an open palm against the wall.

  Miss Breedlowe jumped but stood firm.

  Trevor swore under his breath and stared at his hand on the wall. Trying again, he said more softly, “Please. Miss Breedlowe—Jocelyn. I know my behavior up until this point has been selfish and deplorable and without constancy. But I cannot be shut out now of all times. She cannot welcome my help with that ridiculous passage or those vile Americans and then choose now to run. Please, Miss Breedlowe. You know that I only want . . . ” He was at a loss for words.

  “You only want what for her?” Miss Breedlowe cut in. “What, precisely, is your goal in finding her? Your behavior after the collapse can be viewed as nothing less than admirable—devoted, even—but is it out of order to suggest that any lasting sentiment in this vein would be very new, indeed? I will be the first to admit that I was against relocating her, as was the marchioness. But she insisted and her reasons were strongly held. Surely if you study your behavior of the last weeks, you will not be confused as to why.”

  “Because she finds me abhorrent,” he said miserably. “I know why!”

  “On the contrary. Because she finds you absent.”

  “But I am here! I am begging for access to my own wife!”

  “Yes, you are here, and besides startling the wits out of me, your sense of urgency and insistence is very stirring, to be sure. But for how long are you here?” She took a deep breath and rubbed a gloved hand across her brow. She started again, “The countess has asked to be removed for very firmly held reasons, but, as her devoted friend, I have reasons of my own. I have agreed to be a party to her scheme because of these.” She took another deep breath. “Piety cannot survive your attention today, my lord, and your abandonment next week. She cannot. Of this, Miss Baker and I are all very sure. It is the sole reason we have consented to assist her. The marchioness agrees.”

  “Lady Frinfrock knew about the annulment?”

  “She would not help us any other way.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” he said, “but I cannot be concerned about what any of you think. Piety herself must allow me to explain. I have no intention of leaving her.”

  “I believe the countess’s worry may be—and I betray her by revealing even this much—that your current urgency and insistence may grow to something more akin to irritation and resentment in the future.”

  “Irritation? Resentment?” he repeated. But then he understood. Cold, suffocating regret dawned and sunk in with dull, painful teeth. He grabbed the wall beside him for support.

  “In her view, the unthinkable has happened,” Miss Breedlowe said. “Exactly what you did not want. She will not be a burden to you, Lord Falcondale. She would rather die first. It was one thing for her to entertain your indecision when she was hale and hearty. But she now views herself as an invalid, and she cannot—will not—see you turn away from her in that state. She would rather disappear from your life.”

  “No,” Trevor said, pounding the wall again. “Oh, God, what have I done? I want her. I want her however she may be. I merely want her happy. And healthy! And safe! Not for my sake, for her own!”

  Miss Breedlowe studied him for a moment, considering. Finally, she said, “You must tell her, my lord.”

  “How can I? I don’t bloody know where she is!” Trevor spun away, hissing profanity and raking his hand through his hair. “I will locate her,” he continued, adamant, “even if I have to tear this city apart. In the meantime, I am counting on you to ensure the utmost level of care. If her condition slips even one degree . . . ” He let the threat fade away, daring not to bluster and bully. Not yet.

  Instead, he seized on his very real desperation. “I can also add,” he said, “that there are new dangers. An old associate of mine has turned up from Greece. He has made threatening remarks and put me out of my mind with fear for Piety’s safety. My most recent distraction has been to deal with him. Not to desert Piety, to protect her.”

  Miss Breedlowe studied him, saying nothing.

  Trevor breathed heavily, in and out. “Please, Miss Breedlowe. Please.”

  Finally, she said, “Everyone is determined that the countess continues to improve. But, as you know, her prognosis is vague, at best. The doctor’s predictions, which you, yourself, heard many times, are unchanged. She may very well lose the infected arm. Have you thought, my lord, of your future with a wife so disabled? Have you thought beyond your current discomfort and worry at all?”

  His only answer was to growl again.

  “This is her concern. And this is why she forced our hand and saw herself removed from your home and your care to a situation more self-sufficient.”

  “Please,” he implored again, “I must see her.” His words were imbued with humility. “Please tell me where she is. I will not disappoint her. I love her. However she is, I love her.”

  Miss Breedlowe considered this. “She’s in Knightsbridge, my lord,” she finally said. She gave him the street and number. “Please do not tell her you heard it from me. And do not make me regret my decision.”

  “I won’t. And Miss Breedlowe? I will come straight away, but she need not know that I am there until she is strong enough to hear what I have to say. I do not want to distress her. She’s run for a reason. I don’t want her to feel hunted. Will you help me?”

  “I think it is wise, my lord, not to distress her. I cannot say how she will react when she sees you. There is a small parlor in the flat. We can conceal you there if you arrive when she is awake.”

  “Yes. Good. We’re agreed.”

  “I would not say that, but I will try to accommodate you.”

  “I will be forever grateful.”

  She bobbed a quick curtsy and then turned to go. Joseph and Marissa skittered against the wall to make room.

  Trevor followed her through the gate and into the mews—long enough to see her safely received by a waiting carriage. When she rolled away, he sprinted home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “You’ll go to her straight away?” Joseph scrambled to keep up as Trevor darted across th
e street. The carriage containing Miss Breedlowe had just turned the corner at Cavendish Square and disappeared into the night.

  “Yes,” Trevor said immediately, “I’ll go to her. Although—no. Yes.” He stopped in the street and looked at the night sky. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re worried Straka is watching you?”

  Trevor laughed bitterly. “Oh, I think I’ve given up on all pretense that our marriage is a sham. What a bloody cock-up. I’ve mangled this so badly. She’s in danger if I don’t go to her because they may have followed her. She’s in danger if I do go because I will be followed for sure.”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t wish to push her further away, but I must see her safety and wellness with my own eyes.” He looked at Joseph. “If nothing else, we will ride to Knightsbridge and locate the bloody building. I’ll wait in the lobby night and day and go to her when Miss Breedlowe will allow it. I have no doubt that I will be followed, but at least I will be there to stand over her.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when she fled, Trevor.”

  Trevor shook his head. “It’s not your fault. She has tricked you before, and she will likely do it again.” He looked away. “God willing. But now, hurry,” he went on gruffly, pointing to the mews. “Saddle the horses. I will quickly pack a satchel. When we reach her, I won’t come back until she is at my side even if I have to make camp in the alley.”

  “Falcondale?” A voice from the street broke their huddled conversation. Trevor whirled around.

  Rainsleigh?

  The viscount with whom he’d met earlier today, the man he’d been charged with blackmailing, stepped from a well-appointed carriage, parked in the shadows.

  Trevor went immediately on alert. He assessed the man, looking to the lurking grooms positioned in intermittent dark spots on the lamp-lit sidewalk. It was far too late for a social call.

  “Can I help you?” Trevor asked cautiously.

  “Is this your home?” The viscount stared up at the shadowed façade.

  Trevor hesitated only a second, weighing his words. “Yes. It is my house. But you’ll have to forgive me. I cannot invite you inside. Something’s just come up, and I need to—”

  If ever there was a time for directness, it was now.

  “That is, will you say why you’ve come, sir?” He met Rainsleigh on the walk.

  Rainsleigh chuckled. “Honestly, I had not intended to stop. I’ve only just left my offices, returning to my hotel for the night. Out of sheer curiosity, I bade my coachman take this street. I was puzzled, let’s say, by the matter we discussed today.”

  Puzzled? Right, fine. Obviously, he’d seen through Trevor’s ridiculous investment scheme, but why not have a laugh? Why hunt him down?

  Rainsleigh continued, “Look, I don’t mean to intrude. I would not have disturbed you, if I hadn’t seen you cross the street. I don’t typically prowl around in the dark. I can see you are occupied, and so won’t detain you.” He took one step back, glancing at the house.

  Trevor made a command decision. What choice did he have? He’d tried to leave Piety today to meet this man for an hour, and the result was, she bloody ran away. He would not leave her again unless their lives depended on it. At the moment, the viscount was a bird in the hand.

  “No, Rainsleigh—wait,” he called. “Since you’ve come, allow me to . . . make a confession of sorts. I have something to give you. Normally I would not heap this sort of document on someone I’ve only just met, but circumstances being as they are, I have little choice. My wife has taken ill, and the fright has reordered my priorities, so to speak. I am frantic to reach her. If you’ll hear my news and take what I am offering, it’ll be one less thing. And I may go to her.”

  Rainsleigh studied him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not gravely ill, I hope.”

  Trevor shook his head. Not a denial, a show of helplessness. He could not speak of it.

  He climbed his front steps, unlocking the door and motioning him in. “It won’t take fifteen minutes. If you have the time.”

  The viscount looked up and down the street, then at Trevor, and back at his carriage. After a moment, he gestured to stay the coachman and climbed the steps.

  “I’ve no staff, save a serving boy,” Trevor said, leading the way to his library. “We are very informal here. I hope you won’t mind keeping your coat and hat.”

  “No bother,” said the viscount.

  Trevor looked back and saw him studying the empty rooms and bare walls.

  “No furniture either,” Trevor continued, “obviously. I inherited the earldom, only to discover that the previous earl had squandered the estate, much of it on costly furniture and decor. I’ve since sold it all, trying to dig us out of debt.”

  “Hmm,” said Rainsleigh, “I know this predicament. It was much the same within my family, when the viscountcy came to me.”

  “I’ve sold nearly everything. I’m selling the house, too, if I can find a buyer.”

  “Fine property,” Rainsleigh said, looking around while Trevor made for his desk. He unlocked the side drawer and tucked the damning evidence given to him by Straka in his pocket. He took a deep breath and grimaced. The viscount waited patiently across the desk.

  Trevor cleared his throat. He had no real choice but to begin at the beginning. “When I left Oxford at the age of twenty-one, I went immediately to care for my gravely ill mother . . . ”

  His tedious history went on from there. The list of possible admissions was long, and personal, and strange, but nothing would make sense if he skipped any of it, and a partial truth would make the whole thing ring so very false. It was essential that Rainsleigh believe him if he intended to confide in him, if he hoped to walk away on the side of the right.

  After his mother, Trevor told him about the move to Greece, his affiliation with Straka, his mother’s death, and the unexpected inheritance of the earldom. Next came the arrival of Piety Grey, his courtship of her in Berkshire, their marriage.

  Rainsleigh had taken a seat during the narrative, and now he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. He did not interrupt. He did not scoff, thank God; and he did not call Trevor a liar—yet.

  The only point on which Trevor did not elaborate was the faux nature of his marriage to Piety. In his mind, it was faux no more. He loved his wife, desperately so. He wanted to remain married, if she would have him.

  Finally, he came to the bit that pertained to the viscount. He paused, swallowing hard, picking up a pen and then tossing it down. “On the morning after my wedding,” he said, “I received an unexpected visit from my former employer, Janos Straka.”

  The viscount raised his eyebrows.

  “He turned up in Berkshire with the sole purpose of locating me.”

  Another pause.

  Rainsleigh prodded further. “What did he want?” It was a cautious question. He studied Trevor as he spoke. His trust was not guaranteed.

  Trevor swallowed hard. “Straka ‘asked,’ to use the term loosely, for one, final favor. He’d made a series of bad deals and needed ready money, and lots of it, very fast. He imposed upon me to obtain the money for him here in England. He assumed, of course, that as earl, I had connections and access to the very rich. He assumed I would know someone like you.”

  The viscount cocked his head. His uncertain stare turned cold. “Someone like me?”

  Trevor took a deep breath. “It was for you, explicitly, that he asked. Or, your money, I should say. He hoped I could find you and blackmail you for the needed funds.”

  Realization set on Rainsleigh’s face like clay hardening in the sun. He nodded. He slapped his hands on his knees and leaned forward in his chair. When he spoke, his voice was deadly calm. “Blackmail, is it?” He rose to stand. “Valiant try, Falcondale, but I have seen far worse. I was raised by hedonists, as I’m sure your damning evidence—whatever it is—shows. After a childhood like mine, I have learned a few things abo—”

  “Here ar
e the documents,” interrupted Trevor, desperately, shoving from his chair. He thrust the foolscap at Rainsleigh.

  Rainsleigh stared at him, his expression so incensed, Trevor thought he would bat his hand away. Slowly, he took the extended bundle.

  “That’s everything I was given,” said Trevor. “To be honest, I have not done more than glance at it. It’s something to do with your parents and their time on holiday. In Greece.”

  The viscount swore and opened the papers, madly scanning the contents.

  Trevor continued, “I could not, in good conscience, keep it from you. You may do with it what you will. I have mentioned it to no one except my serving boy, who I trust with my life. Even my wife does not know. I am trying to keep my former life as far from my new life as possible.”

  “What do you want, Falcondale?” asked the viscount, flipping pages.

  “There is nothing that I want. Please understand. I am giving them to you. Go, and forget we ever met. I never meant to blackmail you over this—over anything at all. Our meeting today was a bit of a precursor to what I’ve done, just now, giving you the evidence against your family. It would have been too soon, I thought, to foist the documents on you at our first meeting. We’d meet again; I thought perhaps two or three more times. I would relate my predicament slowly, over time. But I was always going to give them to you. I’ve just run out of time.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Forgive the unexacting nature of this plan. When my wife was injured, I . . . ”

  Rainsleigh looked up. “If you won’t blackmail me, what are your plans for putting off the Greek now?”

  Trevor let out a tired breath. “Honestly, I’ve no clue. I had hoped to figure it out before I delivered these to you, but now here we are. At the moment, the only thing I care about is reaching my wife’s side, seeing her well, and keeping her safe. I have some money saved. Likely, I’ll pay him off myself.”

  Rainsleigh studied him, stepping away from the chair and turning in a slow circle in the room. “I knew there was something off about you. Bloody well knew it. That song and dance about investing? It made no sense, but there was something more. Something intangible. Yet, I liked you. And I like very few people, I can assure you of that. It’s why I had my coachman drive down this street. Instinct bade me to learn more. Never in a million years could I have guessed this.”